Everything Left Unsaid
by alexgmich
Summary: "If some things are better left unsaid, then maybe they too are better left undone."  M for later chapters.
1. Prolouge

Snarling. All I could hear was snarling. A deep vibration rising from his throat and emitting a growl that shook my bones, quivered my heart, rattled my brain. The snarl of one that was truly a beast inside. He jumped me, pinned me to the table. Tearing, tearing, tearing at my clothes. When had I become so naked—so… iVulnerable/i.

I should've never let my guard down, not for one second. For I thought I had won; I thought the stab to the back was an instant kill; I thought wrong. Now I was laid bare for ravenous eyes, filled with the want—nay, the ineed/i—for revenge.

He finally touched my skin with his cold, chubby fingers. It was a foreign touch—nothing soft or pleasant. Rough is how he toyed with my body: Slapping, grabbing, hitting, jabbing. It had become too much and before I knew it something long and hard was easing inside me and—

Spy woke up with a sweat-coated body and a rapid heartbeat. It had been that same dream again, that one where—

"BREAKFAST IN FIVE MINUTES, MAGGOTS!" Soldier bellowed from outside his room. That filthy American never stopped shouting. That bout last night spent nursing a bottle of Demoman's Scrumpy was not kind to the Frenchman this morning, and Soldier was the least bit helpful. The only positive of drinking that poison was forgetting as much time as he possibly could out of his miserable life. Consequences? Maybe, but Spy couldn't give a shit.

He slowly sat up and yawned loudly as he scratched his dirty blonde head. Another monotonous day of a battle that went full circle each week. Living to kill, dying to live again and kill some more. How fun.

With that thought constricting his brain, he swung his legs over the bed and stood to stretch. Bones and joints cracked and popped back into their rightful place. With his suit put on just so and his signature baklava pulled over his head, he was off.


	2. Chapter 1

RED team had lost.

Not just lost, but completely and epically failed.

While all of his comrades were protecting the first capture point, Spy was left to keep watch of the second. More like: Spy was in a bad mood and all classes left him behind. So he smoked like a chimney. He hated feeling useless. For the Frenchman, it was the worst feeling on Earth. He stood playing with his butterfly knife and puffing on his cigarette at the second part of RED's "stomping ground." That was when he thought it'd be alright to let his guard down.

How sorely mistaken he was.

The minute—no, the isecond/i-he lowered those imaginary barriers, blue mist billowed around him and he was suddenly backed against a wall with a sharp metal object pressed to his jugular. "You forgot about me, didn't you?" BLU Spy emitted a cackle that sent shivers up his doppelganger's spine. "Still such a novice, so… useless." RED snarled at the last word but sucked in a sharp breath when the blade pressed closer to his throat.

The red circle on top of the wood floor had almost turned completely blue from the other Spy's presence until he exploded in front of RED Spy's face; bits of his BLU counterpart flew in every direction, but mostly on Spy's very expensive and iclean/i suit. "Mon dieu!" the Frenchman blurted out in confusion and anger, still unaware of how in the world the other man had ruptured.

"FUCKIN' FRENCHY!" That booming voice could only belong to one person: Soldier. The much bigger man stormed over to said "Frenchy" and towered over him. It was like a solar eclipse the way the American blocked out all light that could possibly bathe the Frenchman, yet it was much hotter because of what seemed like steam emitting from Soldier's nostrils was hitting Spy's face.

"CAN'T YOU EUROPEANS DO ANYTHING BUT BE GIRLY, MAMBY PAMBY FRUITCAKES? I TELL YOU TO GUARD THIS POINT AND YOU'RE OFF MAKIN' OUT WITH YOURSELF OVER THERE!"

"But Soldier, I was not—"

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR FRENCH EXCUSES, MAGGOT. I SAVED YOUR FOREIGN BEHIND AND YOU BETTER RESPECT THAT. THIS IS WAR, NOT TEA TIME!"

"Monsieur, I believe ze British drink tea, not moi."

iSlap!/i A firm hand struck Spy's cheek. "DO iNOT/i BACKSASS YOUR COMMANDER, PRIVATE."

Spy's lip twitched, "I do not see 'ow you are higher zen me, filthy American."

That same hand took hold of the Frenchman's throat and squeezed slightly. "iWHAT/i DID YOU CALL ME?"

"A… ifilthy/i… American." The fist tightened. Just when he thought his eyes would pop out of his head, Engineer rounded the corner.

"Woah, there! What in the hell d'ya think yer doin'?"

At the distinct Southern drawl, Soldier reluctantly let go of his vice grip on the other man's thin neck, leaving Spy on his knees as he gasped for air.

"We're on the same side, ya know, and today's battle ain't over yet," Engineer explained with a wag of his finger, "No need to go killin' each other now." The other two men glared daggers at one another until Soldier marched away with a final salute to his fellow American. Engineer waited until the other helmet-clad man was out of sight until he rushed over to Spy and helped him to his feet. "Ya can't go rubbin' Soldier the wrong way, son," the shorter male whispered.

"He believes… he's better zen all of us," Spy panted, "I do not take orders from a war-crazed maniac."

"Well you're gonna hafta… or at least pretend ta… for your sake." With that being said, Engineer clapped a hand on Spy's shoulder and ran back to the first base where his sentry was built.

After Soldier and Spy's encounter, everything had gone downhill. While Engineer was breaking up the two other men, Spy had respawned and sapped his precious level three. After the first was captured, BLU Pyro had caught up with Spy and burnt him to a crisp. It then proceeded to hold its backburner up in the air in victory as said Spy combusted under his boots.

So there the team was, drowning themselves in Demoman's rat poison that he calls "Scrumpy." Instead of being with his comrades and drinking himself into a coma, Spy chose to sit on the scratchy couch adjacent to the small fireplace in RED's den. No one had bothered him since the loss because by now the team knew not to. Spy didn't take loss well, especially when he was somewhat the cause.

Scout popped his head through the doorway, quite wasted himself, and rolled over the sofa's back to plop next to his teammate.

"Yo."

"… go away."

"Why man?"

"I do not feel like talking."

"But talkin's howya let emotions out, yaknowwud'm sayin'?"

"Scout, you are being very sloppy right now. I suggest you go to bed."

"Buh I wanna stay witchu and talk!"

"I would only stay with you if you would put your mouth to better use, boy."

Spy finally chanced a glance at his young teammate to see him sprawled out on his side of the couch and snoring. A small smile graced Spy's lips as he picked up the boy underneath his arms and knees to carry him towards his room. The elder man had to admit, it was strange to see Scout so peaceful and quiet instead of the usual obnoxious and loud.

Scout was placed on his bed gently and tucked in like his mother used to do so many years ago. Spy then looked around for another key item: A garbage can. Because God knows how he'll feel the next morning.


	3. Chapter 2

Spy woke up early the next morning, sheets constricting his legs and sweat dripping from his body. He had one of those unexplainable nightmares again. They were always the same: He'd be abused and left to rot somewhere that he could never quite make out…

The sounds of vomiting emitted from the room next to him. It could only be one person: Scout. Poor boy, drinking his weight in Scrumpy and not thinking of the atrocious hangover that would hit him in the morning. Spy shook his head at the thought of how much hurt Scout must be in right now. The Frenchman threw an arm over his eyes and attempted to drown out the horrid noises coming from Scout's bathroom. Maybe he should help him, but Spy wondered just how he could do that without seeming like the boy's mother. With an overly dramatic groan, Spy heaved himself out of bed and somehow ended up in front of Scout's door.

A light knock sounded from Scout's door. "Who—" the boy began to say before another heave washed over him. "W-Who is it?"

"It is Spy. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fuckin' peachy," Scout managed to croak before a wave of nausea flowed through him and out his mouth. Without a former invitation, Spy entered and made his way to the source of said heaving.

There Scout was, legs barely supporting the weight of the rest of his body even in a crouching position. His face was nearly in the toilet as he hugged the porcelain like it was going to move any minute. When the last of his retching was over, he turned to face Spy with dribble running down his chin and tears running down his face.

"Fuck you lookin' at," Scout snapped with a little less sting considering his position.

"I simply came to check on you and see if you were okay."

"Well I'm fuckin' fine ias you can see/i," said Scout, sarcasm oozing from the words. The Frenchman snorted and made to leave when he felt a hand grab at his pant leg.

"D-don't go," Scout mumbled, barely auditable. Instead of going back to where he stood, Spy squatted next to Scout and rubbed his hand in a circle around his back. Nothing was said and the only noise came from the boy breathing heavily into the bowl, probably still scared that he'd have another fit of sickness.

Round and round went Spy's hand idly while he looked out the door behind him. Nothing was on the drab walls except for… a picture of himself? This would've been investigated further had it not been for Scout's position. It looked like he was outside on one of the nights he liked to be left alone to his thoughts, cigarette poised between his fingers and rings of smoke billowing out of his lips. The angle was pointed downwards, as if it was a birds-eye view. iQuite strange,/i thought Spy.

He was about to question it when something metal pounded on the door, followed by Soldier's booming voice announcing breakfast was ready. The slightest mention of food made Scout give a small groan of disgust.

"Are you going to be ok?" Spy asked, a tint of care in his voice that could only be picked up if you were listening for it.

"Y-yeah, I'm awright for now." Spy got up and was about to leave when he heard his title.

"Yes?"

"Thanks, man… 'Preciate it."

"Do not zank me," Spy simply replied with a wave of his gloved hand, "Hopefully I see you at breakfast if you are well enough." A small smile appeared on Scout's lips, nodding.


	4. Chapter 3

Spy slid into the cafeteria where pancakes and idle chitchat were in abundance. He wordlessly took his share of breakfast and sat next to Sniper at the table. He and the fellow assassin had become close throughout the years of service, laughing at the screams of utter turmoil when a particularly good kill was made.

Why did he like Sniper so much? He never knew what really pulled them towards each other, but as far as he was concerned, one friend was better than none at all. Although both men had muddled over in their minds of possibly taking it further, they decided on their own against it. A ruined relationship out here is not easy to deal with, especially when you're on the same team.

Yet it was deeper than that to Spy. He had promised himself that he would never be romantically involved with any of his teammates. It was a distraction, a nuisance, a weakness – and weakness was something he couldn't afford.

"G'day," the bushman chimed, happy now that he had a fresh cup of coffee in front of him instead of it being from the stale pot he kept in his nest.

"'Ello, Monsieur Sniper," Spy returned with a wary tone.

"Wots got you tuckered out?"

"Oh, nozing. Scout woke me up with his 'orrid retching this morning. Stupid boy, 'e could've killed 'imself with the amount of alcohol 'e 'ad last night."

Sniper took a sip of his coffee. "And why would you care if the lil' bugger threw up his spoine or not?" Thank God for his balaclava because without it his comrade would have seen the slight pink that formed on his cheeks.

"I don't. I would just razzer not wake up to someone puking in the room next to me is all. It is not like I went to check on 'im." Sniper hummed in agreement. iGood./i

Was the lie really necessary? They were supposed to be friends here, yet why did Spy feel like he must lie about visiting the youngest of team RED? These questions, like most rhetorical ones, went unanswered as he put the strange feeling in his gut aside.

"Speakin' of lil' buggers… yeesh."

As if on cue, Scout dragged himself into the dining hall, reeking of stale puke. All eyes turned to him at the wretched smell emitting from the boy with disgust. Scout looked absolutely dreadful: Eyes puffy, a hair that surpassed bedhead, shaky hands rubbing at his temples. He looked around in a daze feeling slightly embarrassed until he heard himself being beckoned by his somewhat savior: Spy.

The dreadful-looking teammate shuffled over and plopped into the seat next to the Frenchman, immediately hiding his face in his hands and groaning.

"And what 'ave we learned?" Spy just had to pry, didn't he?

"Fuck off, ya pansy," Scout said—well, more like whined. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on tugged at Spy's heartstrings, but he thought nothing of it while he chuckled at the others dismay.


	5. Chapter 4

This whole teasing thing was really starting to get on Scout's nerves, especially when Sniper started to laugh alongside the Frenchman. The boy balled up his fists and rubbed them into his eyes to keep the tears welling up behind his lids at bay. Just this morning Spy was comforting him and now he was laughing at his dismay?

Spy seemed to sense the boy's feelings were being hurt so he put a gloved hand gingerly on his teammate's back. "We are only joking wiz you, Scout."

"Don' gotta be so sensitive about it," Sniper added after draining the rest of the coffee from his mug. Spy gave a slightly disapproving look towards the fellow assassin, yet it went unnoticed.

Scout sniffled. "I-I ain't cryin' or nothin'! I can take a fuckin' joke!" A quick swipe of his forearm and all traces of moisture were gone—the old Scout was back in a heartbeat and ready to call out any insult in the book.

The familiar feeling of bile crawled up Scout's esophagus. His hand clapped over his mouth while he tried to pull out of his chair but it was too late—Scout turned his head to the left and emptied the rest of his stomach's contents into Soldier's lap and the bowl of Captain Crunch placed in front of him.

Time stood still and all noise disintegrated into absolute silence. Everyone knew this wouldn't be pretty.

Tension swallowed the room whole as Soldier slowly turned his head and lifted his helmet so Scout could see the pure rage in his eyes. "Uh… Sorry?" was all Scout could get out before Spy took him by the wrist and dragged him out of the room.


	6. Chapter 5

"Mon dieu, are you insane?" hissed Spy the minute Soldier's cries of rage seemed like a mere whisper from down the hall.

"It ain't like I did it on purpose! I couldn' help it, it jus' came out! I didn'-"

"SCOUT! FRONT AND CENTER!" The booming voice of a certain vomit-covered American sounded. Spy look over his shoulder to see the faint outline of said American rounding the corner and lumbering towards them at a fast clip. The Frenchman doubled their speed and finally reached his room before nearly throwing Scout through the doorway. "Do inot/i make any noise or I swear-"

"SPY, where is that little shit of a boy? I saw him run off with you," came Soldier's demanding voice from behind him. Spy turned around to find the other standing—no, itowering/—over him, steam nearly billowing from his nostrils. Quickly and quietly he eased the door closed behind him.

"I 'ave no idea what you are talking about, isir/i," Spy responded coolly. "I was just about to get ready for today's battle. I suggest you do ze same, iMonsieur Soldat./i" With that, he opened the door to his quarters once more and entered without saying another word to the brooding American.

When he heard the distinct sound of boots marching away, Spy finally exhaled. When Scout heard the distinct sound of boots marching away, he burst from the closet with a grin spread across his face from cheek to cheek and a glimmer of admiration in his eyes. "You were GREAT, man! Gawd, the way you were so fuckin'… Composed! Yeah, that's the word! I'd never be ableta—" A gloved hand clamped down on the boy's fat mouth with a slap.

"Don't utter anozer word," the Frenchman warned, "You could 'ave gotten me in a lot of trouble for your little stunt in ze dining 'all. Be glad I had pity for you." The hand was removed and with it went the boy's smile.

Scout rung his hands together with his head down and muttered a small "sorry." That same gloved hand clapped the boy on the shoulder and he looked up to see a slight, but genuine, smirk on Spy's face.

"Just do us both a favor: do not drink zat much again, ok?" Scout nodded, grin playing on his features once more.


	7. Chapter 6

It had been eight days since the incident between Soldier and Scout—and the last time he had talked to Spy—but surely the latter of the two hadn't been counting. The boy tried to repress the feeling of missing him, but he had started to become desperate. He considered getting drunk once again to make up an excuse and give himself some liquid courage in order to speak to the man, but the thought of liquor brought that familiar feeling of nausea these days.

Spy surely didn't miss him, he was almost positive. But what if he did? The idea of him even being a fleeting thought in Spy's mind made Scout's heart jump. How could he become so attached already? Did the man's act of helping him puke his guts up as he hugged the toilet really leave that much of a mark on him?

The answer was no—this was not the way Scout's admiration for Spy had begun. He didn't really know Spy, but it was the way the man carried himself with such genuine finesse. Not so much aloofness, but he had an air of sensibility and professionalism. Scout was almost jealous of these attributes, since he was known as the loudmouth of the team, always having a snarky comment or something to brag about. It wasn't his fault—it was just in his nature. Growing up with three older brothers made him strive to be better than everyone at what he was good at. Of course, being part of a team of assassins wasn't something to be all that proud of, but it was this or prison.

Running is what he did best, including dodging the law. Scout had done things in the past that him and his family aren't too proud of, so that's how he ended up here. The proposition had come to him on a morning jog through a seedy part of his hometown in Boston; it was in the form of a colorful blue and red flyer tacked on a wooden post. Said flyer promised a good sum of money and a free train ticket to the unknown destination of where he would be headed—it was the perfect escape. Scout ripped off one of the numbers dangling from the bottom of the advertisement and sprinted home, calling immediately. The next thing he knew, he was on a train into the desert, naïve in every sense of the word as to what was to come.

Spy had been staring into his mirror above the bathroom sink for what seemed like hours. These days, free time away from battle had become quite tedious without the drama that Scout usually brought. Since the vomiting incident at the table, the man had only seen Scout in passing with either a "good morning" or "good evening". For some reason, however, the boy could not escape his thoughts. It nearly frightened him how seeing that smug grin from a mile away could brighten his week.

_Pull yourself together, Julien!_ He ripped off his mask and slapped himself hard on the cheek. What was he doing? Standing in his bathroom, dress shirt unbuttoned, tie hanging loosely around his neck, slapping himself in the face to what—hope that the strange and foreign attraction to this young obnoxious boy just flies out of his brain upon his hand's impact? This is not how a Spy should behave, let alone _look_.

"I need a cigarette," he groaned. With one last look at his disheveled appearance, Julien returned to his bedroom to shed his clothes and lie in bed to prepare for a sleepless night. As soon as he retrieved a cigarette from its case and lit the end, a knock sounded from his door. A loud, dramatic sigh escaped his lips as he turned his head toward the clock: 11:35pm.

"Who is it? Actually no, go away," Spy stated flatly. He was in no mood to talk to anyone with so many thoughts clouding his mind.

"Oh, uh, ok then—night," replied a very distinct voice: it was Scout. A lump instantly formed in Julien's throat at the realization, hurriedly telling the younger man he could enter as he stood up and put out his barely smoked cigarette. Only then did he notice that he was only wearing his boxers but it was too late—Scout slowly poked his head in with a strangely meek smile on his face.

"Hey uh, I jus' wanted to say thanks again for that shit ya did for me last week," the boy said as he timidly entered the room and clicked the door shut. Scout looked at the man up and down, his face turning a shade of pink at the man's attire—or lack thereof. His eyes snapped right back at the mask-less face of his comrade. Wait—mask-less? Green eyes grew wide at the strange sight. He never thought that Spy was a blonde considering his dark brown eyes, let alone having almost shoulder-length hair. The man's face was all defined bone structure and clean-shaven. He was more handsome than Scout could have ever pictured.

"What, is zere somezing on my—" Julien touched his cheek and realized his mask wasn't on. Fear suddenly flooded his eyes as he pivoted his heels and began frantically searching for it.

"It's awright, man, ya secrets safe with me. What, I'm gonna tell our team how good—I mean, what ya look like?" That was too close.

After the fruitless attempt to find his balaclava, Julien sighed and turned back towards his younger teammate, "I guess zis isn't the worst that could 'appen." Why was he being so careless? If it was anyone else, he would have hid in the bathroom and demanded that the visitor leave at once.

An awkward silence filled the room as the men stood in front of each other, both suddenly finding a great interest in their feet.

Of course, it was Scout who broke the silence. "So uh yeah, I guess that's all I had ta say…" The young man's voice was small and trailed off as he turned and left the room with a goodnight.

Spy slumped onto his bed and palmed his face. "Well zat could've gone smoother," he mumbled to himself when he was sure that Scout had closed the door and was on his way to his room. Flopping onto his bed, Julien decided it was best to just swim in his thoughts by staring at the ceiling until sleep would hopefully take over.


	8. Chapter 7

I can barely think, alls I can do is fuckin' feel—feel the hot breath on my neck, the hands roamin' over my body, the intense heat that drove me and the guy above me insane. I feel a smack on my ass and I can't help but moan real loud, I don't give a shit if anybody hears me at this point. Somethin' hard grinds against my thigh while two fingers press inta me; I felt like I was gonna go fuckin' crazy with how god damn amazin' everythin' felt.

It was dark, the moon outside let me see kinda, but I couldn't make the guy out through the shadow—the other guy dove down and kissed me real hard and I made a real sissy noise but I don't care. Our tongues went bat shit crazy in each other's mouths while the fingers inside-a me twisted and made me breathe even harder than I already was. All a sudden I felt empty as the fingers pulled out and I felt somethin' thicker and longer start workin' into my ass. Oh god, I felt like I was gonna freakin' lose it right there with the feelin' of the other guy's dick slidin' in and fillin' me up.

"Mon dieu, Daniel, you feel amazing," a thick French accent groaned as he started goin' in an' out, in an' out.

Then I realized. Holy shit, it was Spy who was fuckin' me—just me realizin' that it was him nearly did me in. I couldn't stop sayin' his name when I started shoutin' and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He was lickin' and bitin' on my neck and oh god was he gonna leave bruises on my hips from the way he was squeezin' at 'em. He startin' speedin' up and talkin' dirty in my ear with some French I couldn't undastand too but shit was it hot. Alls I could do was pant and moan and shout while Spy's dick pounded inta me again and again.

"Mon amour, do you like it when I fuck you zis 'ard, when I fill you up like zis?"

"Shit fuck oh god oh god fuck fuck fuck—" I cried out hoarsely, nearly screamin' his name as I was about to—

"Spy!" Scout panted. He awoke covered in sweat, semen dripping down his cock and staining the sheets. A bright red tinted his cheeks at the realization of the dream—it had felt so real, unbelievably so. The only aspect of his dream that made it fictitious, however, was Spy didn't know his real name; the fact made him feel like his heart had been squeezed until its breaking point. No words could describe how much admiration the boy had for the other and how he wished he could be on that level of intimacy with him.

Soldier's demanding yells snapped him back to reality. Looking around, he noticed there was nothing to clean himself up with; with a groan he wiped his stomach and dick off with his now soiled sheets and proceeded to get dressed.

In the next room over, Spy awoke to the sound of his teammate screeching through the halls. Oh how he wished that he could wake up on his own for once instead of being startled by Soldier's obnoxiously loud mouth. Julien sat up and cupped his face with both hands. The last thing he wanted to do was go out and kill all day—not for moral reasons, but because the monotony of it all made him want to stab himself rather than a man on BLU.

Somehow he had managed to get tangled in his sheets; while wrestling with the constricting object he tumbled to the floor and smacked his head against the unpadded carpet. Today was not going to be a good day.

Not only was Daniel nervous, but he was petrified of seeing Spy at breakfast. He considered not even going to save himself the urge to cry of embarrassment over the dream he had last night. Of course the older man was unaware of said dream, but just a glance in Spy's direction would probably goad him to violently blush or worse—get an erection. However, they were on the same team and seeing Spy was inevitable so he took a deep breath and walked into the dining hall.

Scoping out the room, the young man saw neither hide nor tail of Spy. He exhaled the breath he had been holding since he entered and walked towards a vacant chair between the team's Sniper and another empty chair. Daniel asked for the eggs and bacon in his usual somewhat rude manner and piled the food upon his plate. Just as he was about to put a forkful of eggs into his mouth, Spy entered the room.

It was if his heart had taken a swan-dive into his stomach; His eggs fell from his fork. Heat rose to his cheeks and he quickly averted his eyes toward the plate in front of him. Sniper caught a glimpse of his teammate's behavior and emitted a small chuckle.

"Wot's got you all hot an' bothered, gremlin?" Sniper asked with an air of obliviousness, even though he had a guess as to why the boy had gone from completely fine to a stiff, blushing mess.

Scout came back down to Earth and cleared his throat before replying with a defensive glint in his eyes, "I got a stomach ache, what's it to ya?" Sniper was about to retort when Spy shuffled towards the two.

"Bonjour Sniper, Scout," the man greeted the two and plopped into the seat next to Daniel. While the sharpshooter replied with a tip of his hat and a spritely "good mornin'," Scout stammered a nervous hello and began to viciously devour his breakfast. This made Julien raise an eyebrow, but began reaching for the plate of waffles and distributing two onto his dish.

As his two teammate's chatted, Scout remained silent by shoveling the mountain of food in front of him to create an excuse.

"Done!" Daniel practically squeaked. The two next to him snapped their heads in between them at the sudden outburst, but by that time, the young man was swiftly turning the corner of the room's threshold.

"What 'as gotten into him?" Spy asked, clearly confused as to why Scout had left so abruptly.

"I 'unno, mate," Sniper replied with a shrug of his shoulders, "Might as well find out."

"Okay, so you go."

"Nah, mate, I think you should."

Spy quirked his eyebrow for a second time that morning, but pushed the chair out and left the dining hall at a brisk pace in order to catch up with the younger man.

"Scout!" Julien called out when he saw the boy about 10 feet ahead of him. When he didn't respond, Spy broke out into a jog, repeating the boy's title to try and get his attention.

"Shit," Daniel cursed to himself, but turned around and stopped anyway. Finally the man reached him, somewhat out of breath but he composed himself quickly as always.

"I saw 'ow you had left the dining 'all, is zere something wrong?"

Scout couldn't look the man in the eye, so he glanced at the white wall to the left of him and replied, "Nah, j-just a, uh, stomach ache that's all."

Spy was clearly not convinced—he knew a lie when he heard one. "No really, Scout—what is ze matter? You know you can tell me."

"No, I can't," The younger man stubbornly responded, now looking the man in the eyes.

"Oh? And why is zat."

"I… I just can't."

Spy put his gloved hands on the boy's shoulders and repeated his question: "What. Is. Wrong."

Scout, for some reason, felt a surge of bravery—where it came from, he didn't know. It seemed to come from his gut and a little voice that was poisoning his brain with a chant repeating, "This is your chance, do it."

"Fuck it," Daniel suddenly blurted out.

"Quoi?" Spy asked, but before he could get a verbal response, Scout was holding both sides of his head as he squeezed his eyes shut, stood on his tippy toes, and kissed him.


End file.
